


Ryan Bergara and the WTF Patronthingy

by raven_aorla



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Dementors, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Memory Alteration, Missing Scene, Swearing, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: "Don't tell me it's not a ghost! I just got attacked by ghouls while we're in the Old City Jail! This isn’t the time to be playing skeptic.”"Let me finish. It’s not a ghost, it’s my patronus.” Shane releases Ryan from the hug and the patronthingy fades away like mist.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara & Shane Madej
Comments: 12
Kudos: 106





	Ryan Bergara and the WTF Patronthingy

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers for the Season 6 finale.

A significant portion of Ryan’s career boils down to scaring himself for money, but the Old City Jail is honestly the most frightening experience he’s had since the Sallie House. It’s so frightening that it’s become meta-scary.

As he wanders around its dark and dusty halls, narrating to himself, he starts thinking of how he felt at Sallie. And he then he starts thinking about being seventeen and getting his face poked and his toothpaste flung while on the Queen Mary. Then he starts thinking about finding Timmy’s ball right under his own name spray-painted on an asylum wall. Then it all starts getting mixed in with other negative thoughts, whether it be sad memories ( _Helen telling him it’s over_ ) or self-loathing and doubt ( _what’s the point of all this, his whole life’s a joke, nobody really cares about him, he’s an embarrassment to all three of his heritages, he’s nothing but a scaredy cat of a little boy pretending carrying a video camera would make him important, Mari’s going to figure it out and leave too, Shane secretly knows already and is only hanging around to mock him...._ ).

Something in Ryan bends and bends and bends until he’s at the breaking point, but instead of breaking he gathers in his strength and _snaps back_ , turning his fear into rage. He’s not sure what he says. Some of it isn’t words, he knows, and a lot of the words are “fuck”. He takes that confused war of fight-flight-freeze inside him and turns up the dial on FIGHT, running through the old jail like there’s something he could kill and make it all better.

Then he sees something that brings him to a dead stop.

It’s a floating figure in what looks like black robes and a hood covering its face, humanoid, kinda Nazgul-y? Ryan really hopes it won’t do the Black Rider screech from the movies. Even when he’s so terrified that the only reason he hasn’t pissed himself is that his very piss has probably shriveled up in its own independent terror, some part of his brain insists on making dumb pop culture references.

“Uh...my name is, is, is Ryan Bergara, would you like to talk, or - shit, no, I can’t do this!” Ryan turns to run for the exit, but he gets blocked off by another of those Full Gothed Apparitions. And another. And another, four of them around him, and every time he’s ever been afraid, sad, guilty, depressed, miserable any way is playing in his mind until it all runs together incoherently. He sinks to the floor, curling up into a defensive ball, his flashlight slipping through his sweaty fingers and rolling away. Great, he’s going to die alone in the dark doing what he hated.

There’s a loud whistle, followed by a shout of: “Hey raggedy motherfuckers! _EXPECTO PATRONUM! _”__

Ryan’s eyes are squeezed shut and he doesn’t see what happens immediately afterwards. But a few seconds later, the horrible feelings fade away, and he chances a peek.

Okay, there’s a ghost sitting right in front of him. It’s not a humanoid apparition this time. It’s a translucent, silvery mountain lion, which promptly flops over and stretches like Obi does in front of him whenever Ryan visits Shane and Sara’s place. The kind of stretch that appears to invite belly rubs, but it’s a lie. Not very wild behavior at all. Did the jail use unconventional guard animals at some point?

Then Shane himself dashes over, drops his flashlight, and drops to his knees to put his hands on Ryan’s back. “Ryan, you okay? Please say something. Ryan, don’t just stare at me, say something. If they kissed you I’m going to walk into the sea and keep walking until the mermaids accept my visa application, I swear to God.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Ryan would say more, but he’s taken aback by the force of Shane’s hug.

Shane babbles, “I’m so sorry, this shouldn’t have been possible. I didn’t know they were here. I didn’t see or sense any when I did my walk-through, maybe they knew they couldn’t take me, I thought it was only the boggart on the third floor stirring up shit. I turned it into a really thicc-assed squeaky cartoon Mothman. You’d have been proud.”

“I appreciate this hug, but it’s really hot tonight and we’re both really sweaty,” Ryan says. “Also, can you really not see the ghost next to you?”

“It’s not a ghost.”

“Don't tell me it's not a ghost! I just got attacked by ghouls while we're in the Old City Jail! This isn’t the time to be playing skeptic.”

“Let me finish. It’s not a ghost, it’s my patronus.” Shane releases Ryan from the hug and the patronthingy fades away like mist. “Mine's a big ol’ cougar kitty. Give me a sec, I’ve got a Hershey bar somewhere. You need chocolate and some water.”

“If you say one more bizarre thing with no context I am going to strangle you and bury you under the floorboards,” Ryan says, getting into a more normal sitting position. His knees still feel too wobbly to stand.

“Can’t have that,” Shane says mildly. He reaches for and turns off his flashlight. In the few seconds of dark before Ryan has time to find his own, Shane makes rummaging sounds even though he doesn’t have much in the way of deep pockets in his current outfit, and murmurs, " _Lumos_."

The new light is coming from the tip of what looks like a magic wand.

“This had better not be a prank,” Ryan says slowly.

Shane does an exaggerated parody of Ryan, the one that sounds like Gene the French Fries from the Hot Daga. “D’oOOoooh, this isn’t the time to be playing skeptic.”

“Oh ha ha.” Ryan takes the three-quarters of a chocolate bar and the water bottle Shane thrusts into his hands and takes a greedy gulp of the water.

Twirling the wand, Shane says, “I’ll have you know there’s an ethically sourced Scottish unicorn hair from a luxurious unicorn mane filling up this rowan wood bad boy. Eat the chocolate. It’ll make you recover faster and reduce the chance of lingering trauma.”

“If you didn’t think those things were here, why did you have chocolate?” Ryan asks, peeling back the foil. Credit where credit is due, it tastes better than chocolate has ever tasted before.

“I keep an emergency kit with me whenever we go to these things. Bunch of stuff in it.”

“But you didn’t have a full bar?”

“Sometimes I get hungry and have a nibble before I have time to restock.”

“I’ve never seen you carrying a big emergency kit.”

“I have a magic fucking wand, why are you questioning how I get shit past you?”

Ryan raises his eyebrows. “You have a magic fucking wand? I’m not kinkshaming, but this isn’t the place to whip one of those out.”

They both laugh until they’re in tears and Ryan nearly chokes on the rest of the chocolate he’s dutifully eating. It’s not about the quality of the joke, it’s about the relief they’re both feeling. When they’ve both calmed down a bit, Ryan says, “You owe me an explanation. If you knew the paranormal was real. I assume you had your reasons, and I’m glad you saved me, but you owe me.”

Shane folds his long, bony self up so he’s hugging his knees with one arm while holding his wand in the opposite hand. He looks at Ryan with a bittersweet fondness. “Don’t interrupt me until I’m done. We don’t have much time before the crew comes looking. I was a normal kid, turned eleven, presto, suddenly could do magic. Not the only one. There’s a recessive genetic component, but some of it seems to be random. I’m the only one in my family. I got discovered and went away to a school to learn how to control it, but my parents insisted I take summer classes so I’d also know regular stuff. They’ve got their whole insular secret society thing, the wizards and witches - and mages, for people who don’t wanna stick to gendered terms - but some of us, especially ones born outside the bubble, keep a foot in both worlds. That’s important to me, so I made it my career to simultaneously protect everyone who doesn’t have magic from monsters while keeping the monsters’ existence hidden. Not that this isn't a swell side gig, because it is.”

 _ _“__ But why stay hidden?” Ryan asks. He can think of a few reasons, but he wants to know which ones are for real.

Shane snorts. “You dragged me all over Salem trying to talk to deceased hate crime victims and you’re asking me that now? It’s a very small minority of humans worldwide and we wouldn’t win a war if it came to that. I personally think there’s room for more transparency, but that’s another conversation. I’ve got laws to follow and vows to uphold.”

Eyes widening, Ryan asks, “Wait, wait, do you delete anything from our footage? You totally do. You son-of-a-bitch.”

“Among other things,” Shane says, now sounding unhappy. “It’s nice for a few minutes, you know, each time we have this conversation. Sara’s got more of a knack for this spell, and she says it reduces bad side effects if the subject is feeling relaxed.”

“Huh?” He already suspects, though. It had been too easy.

“Sorry. I’ll buy you a beer after the shoot.” He points the wand at Ryan. __“_ Obliviate _ _._ ”__


End file.
